Déjà vu
by BatRocha
Summary: Desmond transported to the High Middle Ages with no idea on how he should have arrived there or any means of escape. Whether from an Animus malfunction or an unrelenting symptom of the bleeding affect, he doesnt know. The only thing Desmond does know, is that no one, not even his ancestors can be trusted. M for violence, Pre-slash (If you squint)
1. Chapter 1

AN:Just A heads up this story will include refrences to several languages, just bear with me.

* * *

When Desmond woke up, he expected to see the familiar grey tiles of the Abstergo cell the Templars put him in. Not the wooden boards of what seemed to be a wagon that was only a few inches away from his face. Granted, Desmond had wanted a change of scenery from the dreary 'room' the Templars kept him in but this was hardly any better.

"What the hell?" Desmond said, moving out from under the wagon and taking a good look at his surroundings. He was in the middle of a road, a dirt road to be exact but not the kind you expect in the forests of South Dakota or the countryside for that matter. No, it was more like Desert kind of road, with a blistering heat to match as Desmond was soon finding out.

There was absolutely no form of life to be seen anywhere. It was the kind of place he would expect inside the Animus, when he was reliving Altair's memories, but he wasn't Altair. He wasn't wearing the complicated ensemble that Altair always wore, or the familiar weight of weapons he always carried around. No, he was just ordinary Desmond

Was this a dream, or some kind of Animus malfunction? Desmond thought, sitting down in the little shade the wagon provided. He didn't have any recollection of entering the Animus, plus there weren't any of the familiar maps and synchronization levels that usually appeared at the edge of his vision. Not to mention that the experience he was feeling right now was a much more vivid one that neither a dream nor the Animus could ever provide.

So if Desmond wasn't in a dream or in the Animus and obviously not in an Abstergo cell where the hell was he?

Desmond sighed, taking off his sweater in an effort to cool down. He didn't know how Altair did it carrying all those layers of clothes and still being able to fight and outrun the guards. Desmond was just wearing a light sweater and already he was sweating through it.

"Now what am I supposed to do?" Desmond muttered tying the sleeves of his sweater around his waist.

He could always follow the road and see where it leads, but there was always the chance that he would meet soldiers on patrol and get into unnecessary trouble just because he didn't know how to properly speak Arabic or worse come into contact with one of the Templars, but then again what choice did he have.

Whether he found a Templar patrol or an assassin one he'd still probably be killed on sight.

"Well it's not like I have anything to lose." He said, picking a path that Desmond assumed was north, and started walking. The pelting heat causing Desmond to seek out shade every few hours and eventually led Desmond to use his sweater as a makeshift _shemagh_ to save on time.

"I swear if this is all something Vedic cooked up." Desmond grumbled wiping off the sweat from his brow, growing increasingly wary of dehydration, as he sat down at the edge of the road on what seemed to be the fiftieth stop that day.

There wasn't much change in scenery as the last time he made a stop. There was rock, dirt and not much else, the only key difference was that the sun was setting, giving Desmond an excuse to rest.

He curled up to the side of a rock formation, putting the sweater back on more for protection against the sharp rocks than actually being cold.

Hunger gnawed at Desmond's stomach, reminding him dehydration wasn't the only problem he faced.

Desmond ignored it preferring to find a comfortable position and catching some sleep, and starting fresh in the morning. Desmond was hoping he might find a stream or even a family who would be able to help him out. That was the plan anyway, until he heard the familiar sound of a galloping horse. Desmond turned only to be met with a blur of brown and white. The rider looked to be wearing a white hood, a common assassin uniform. Desmond was about to call out to the man but before he could do so, he heard the trampling of footsteps and shouts of warning to 'stop' from what Desmond could only presume were guards and went off running himself. Desmond doubted he would be able to hide effectively at the side of the road and he very much doubted the guards would be very lenient with him considering he was wearing a similar dress as the assassin that just flew by.

"Fantastic." Desmond said, running all the more faster, when a guard gave an affirmative sighting of the 'assassin' to his peers. Dehydration was starting to affect Desmond as nausea started settling in. He pushed on ignoring his protesting sides and the painful hammering of his heart. The guards themselves weren't letting up; instead, noticing that Desmond was slowing down was sped up.

Desmond noticing that it was futile stopped and went down on his knees. Placing his hands to his head in what he hoped was a sign of surrender. It didn't help much; the guards once they got close to him roughly threw him to the ground, causing a grunt of pain to escape from Desmond's mouth.

The guards didn't stop there; they kicked Desmond right in his sternum causing him to lose his breath. He didn't have a chance to catch it back as the guards continued their abuse. They started to target more vital and vulnerable areas, each one eliciting a cry of pain from Desmond. One guard stomped on his leg so hard; Desmond thought he heard it break.

The beating continued, eventually the guards grew tired of this and finally decided on tying Desmond up, being extremely cautious as they did this checking his person to see if Desmond had any weapons. Not that it would do much. Desmond could hardly feel anything beyond the sharp pains that erupted all over his body. He highly doubted he would be lucid enough to attempt an escape.

Once he was tied up, the guards seemed to have relaxed and roughly pulled Desmond to his feet.

He almost threw up on the spot, from the quick movement. A concussion, a possible injury added to the list. The guard positioned Desmond in a way where if he did become sick at least it wouldn't fall on any of the guards.

The guard said something to Desmond in Hebrew , to which Desmond assumed needed an affirmative answer to, but while Desmond had a high enough comprehension of the Arabic language to understand it thanks to all the hours he spent in the animus as Altair he didn't exactly know how to speak it fluently enough to speak it coherently. His skills in Hebrew were even less impressive.

Desmond gave a slow nod of his head hoping that was enough to quell the guard, which luckily it was, since all the guard did was push Desmond forward.

The other guards seeing the prisoner on the move circled around Desmond effectively trapping him.

They started leading him in the direction Desmond was originally headed only at a faster pace and a rougher journey. The sky was quickly darkening as the sun disappeared over the horizon.

They led Desmond farther up the hill and was greeted by surprise, surprise more guards. Except these guard were different, unlike the previous guards that had Desmond surrounded who wore simple uniforms that looked more like raggedy hand me downs than anything else, these ones wore clean, almost Nobel like uniforms. The most noticeable feature, of course, was the large Red Cross on their chests.

"Templars." Desmond whispered under his breath, feeling his anxiety increase by the minute. As he the prominent leader of the Templar order himself, Robert De la Sable.

His Templars closed in on Desmond the moment he came into view, pushing aside the other guards.

"Is this the assassin?" Robert De Sable said, his thick French accent coming through.

The guards moved to the side albeit begrudgingly allowing the Templars to check Desmond for whatever they were looking for. They took a careful check of his sweater, turning out all of his pockets and giving a few odd looks at the zippers it contained.

"He wore the same robes you described, sir." One of the guards said holding his ground against Roberts gaze. "A hooded figure in white."

"Very well does he have what we seek?"

The Templars didn't let up from their searching. "Not yet sir, give us some time."

Robert dismounted off his horse and walked slowly up to Desmond, towering over him. Desmond just looked to the side not wanting to make eye contact. He didn't want to give them any more reason to punch his lights out.

"You look different from the last time I saw you assassin." Robert said in Arabic, his French accent that showed in his Hebrew coming in now. "Less bold."

Desmond didn't say a word, causing Robert to pause in his observations.

"Show me his wrists."

One of the Templar knights raised Desmond an arm, lowering the sleeves to show what was underneath, which was nothing.

"Where is your blade assassin, the last time we spoke you wished nothing but to bury the metal inside of me."

Desmond stayed silent.

"It seems that just as your blade is missing, so is your tongue."

The Templars stopped searching and stood back, one went up and whispered a few things to Robert and stood back into formation.

Robert narrowed his eyes at Desmond, roughly grabbing his hand, and putting it in full view of his face. Desmond struggled pulling back slightly but made no difference in Roberts's strong grip.

"And here lies the problem. You are not the assassin we seek." Robert took a good look at Desmond's features, a slow smile appearing on his lips "However you could still be of some use to us."

Robert turned to the guards speaking in his accented Hebrew. "Get his horse ready, we will leave when we are able." He grabbed Desmond by the chin. Angling his face so it would be nose to nose with Roberts and in Arabic he said. "We will see how long you will hold your tongue."

* * *

shemagh: a hat scarf, used in the desert.

So just want to put in, that I have made this unnessarily difficult for myself and Desmond and placed a language barrier. I'm going to assume that Robert knows Hebrew and Arabic, since it would be the only way he could have ever communicated with all his templar buddies, so yeah.

Unrelated subject: 007


	2. Chapter 2

AN: This chapter has proved the M rating, if your queasy about violence I would not suggest you to continue. Thank you for the encouragement and I hope you enjoy.

* * *

Robert de Sable never really left an impression on Desmond. He was just a name and a person in Altair's past, a reminder, and a lesson that not everything is what it seems. The contempt Altair felt for Robert was palpable, every time he took on the role of Altair he felt it, tasted it but it never felt like his own. Desmond was always able to distinguish between his apathy towards Robert and Altair's bitter hatred.

Now, as he watched the Templars fastened both his arms and feet together he was starting to feel the familiar loathing of Altair's settling in.

They took off his shoes throwing them in the mud, sullying them beyond repair; Desmond should probably stop purchasing white shoes, if he got the chance that is.

The Templars, once Desmond's socks were taken off lathered his feet with what appeared to be lard. Leaving it completely covered in the offending material. Desmond couldn't help quirking his lips in amusement. This was hardly any form of ruthless punishment, uncomfortable, yes but Desmond could live through discomfort.

The Templar replied with a grin of his own. "Don't get too comfortable, assassin were not through with you yet."

Robert was stood a few feet away talking to a few of his guards. He turned around to face Desmond once he was done, a small smile gracing his lips.

"I have a bit of a confession to make," Robert said taking a step forward, his attire bellowing in the wind. "I've never had the pleasure of interrogating an assassin before" He grabbed his gloves from the side of his belt. "Interrogation is an art that you, assassin would no doubt appreciate. The thing is if I push you too little and you'll stay defiant, too much and I could be speaking to a corpse. So instead of just going along with it I will give you the option to just cooperate."

Desmond considered the option. He wasn't a real assassin he wouldn't be able to withstand any of Roberts innovative forms of interrogation.

If Desmond spontaneously remembered how to arrive to Masayaf it wouldn't make much of a difference. Robert is supposed to make his appearance to the village after all. If not the following events wouldn't be able to unfold, but then that was the problem wasn't it. He didn't know how to reach Masayaf, couldn't even begin to fathom the direction of where the village is, or how to communicate it to the Templars. Robert would certainly kill him without the knowledge.

So to put matters into perspective, Desmond was screwed.

Desmond kept his gaze on Robert his face neutral at the hope that it wouldn't incite any anger.

"No, going to be defiant now aren't we. I can respect that." He motioned to one of the Templars who quickly went to his side, a simmering bucket in his hand, a warm glow coming out of it. "I don't expect it to last long." He took the bucket and inched his way to Desmond making his journey as painfully slow. He beckoned to his peer and pointed to Desmond. He spoke to his subordinate in his native tongue, French.

Desmond didn't have a good enough grasp of the French language. There were only a few phrases that he knew and they came from Altair's conversations with king Richard.

"Le maintenez." Robert said before facing his captive yet again. The Templar knight he was talking to took a position behind Desmond.

"Now that everything is in order I guess start explaining what you can look forward to." He dumped the contents of the bucket on the floor releasing dozens of burning lumps of coal. Desmond was only a few feet away, and he could feel the slight warmth emanating from the coal. Desmond flinched involuntarily revealing to Robert his distress.

A rookie mistake, Desmond could see the cogs in Roberts head turning as a slow smirk graced his face. Whether this move stemmed any chance of Desmond had, was too soon to say. Desmond steeled himself for what was to come; nothing good would come from it if he showed his hand all in one sitting.

"From what I can surmise, you might have an idea on what's going to happen, but in case you don't here's how it works. For every question I ask, I will expect an honest answer. Every time you answer the question to my satisfaction my college right there," Robert pointe to the Templar knight behind Desmond, his expression virtually nonexistent thanks to the helmet Templar knights had a tendency of carrying." Will pull you further from the coals, answer to my dissatisfaction and he will push you further into the flames, understood? Great than let's get started with a simple question shall we, like what were you doing out in the middle of road? It didn't seem like your comrade even knew you were around if not he would have helped you, unless the assassins are a more cold hearted bunch than I originally anticipated."

Desmond didn't answer. Robert sighed; the Templar knight pushed Desmond forward, the heat from the coals becoming stronger but bearable.

"Sore subject?"

No answer, another push.

"Or are you an apprentice, did you follow your master hoping you could gain glory?"

Again no response and again there was another push. This time Desmond was near enough to the coals where the heat was starting to burn his skin, making his feet sensitive to every rise and fall of the temperatures.

Robert didn't ask any further questions choosing to stay silent and watch Desmond reactions. Without the distraction, Desmond found his thoughts continue to focus on the burning sensation, the lard that was slathered on before seemed to enhance the effect. The lard started boiling onto Desmond's skin. It started slow but it gained increasing speed the closer Desmond's feet edged closer to the flames. The pain that was at one time bearable was now turning into slow, excruciating pain.

"Is this getting difficult for you assassin I could always come back later." Robert said the smirk from before coming back tenfold.

Desmond as usual didn't comment. Sweat was coming down at the side of his face, a cool diversion to his burning soles. His will, slowly breaking, as he bit his lips to keep from calling out.

It didn't work, the moment the Templar knight made one last push; Desmond's feet were touching the flames. He screamed at the top of his lungs, the constant pressure of heat pushing against his feet with no relief. He tried pulling himself away, but the Templar kept him at bay, keeping him firmly grounded to the spot. Desmond felt the burning sensation burrowing deeper into his skin, roasting him and essentially cooking him as one wood cook a pot roast. To Desmond, it felt as if he were walking the streets of hell.

"I guess your right we should get this over with. Who were the two assassins that tried to take the artifact from Solomon's Temple? "

Desmond couldn't say anything beyond the occasional cry of pain, his voice growing hoarse from the screaming. They started to push his feet further into the coals.

"Altair!" Desmond said with a scream, unable to take the pain much longer. "Altair and Malik." He said with a gasp, as the Templar knight, with permission from Robert pulled Desmond up a fraction. Desmond wasn't at a far enough distance where the flames were touching him, but the dancing flames served as a constant reminder that, that could change at any moment.

"He speaks, finally we are making progress, and to think, I actually thought we might have to take more drastic measures. Now let's start from the beginning, why were you at the middle of the road?"

Desmond gave a small shrug hoping it would be enough to sate Roberts's desire for information. This elicited a tired sigh, one a disappointed father might give to a troublesome son.

This was an incorrect response, which prompted a harsh push from the Templar knight.

This time as Desmond's feet touched the fiery coals, he blacked out for a few minutes, stars appearing to wake him up to remind him of the harsh sting of the flames against his skin, biting it and leaving it bright red. Words started to spew from his mouth before Desmond could stop himself. Unfamiliar words, that Desmond could hardly understand but apparently were the right things to say since he felt himself being pulled back.

His vision was blurry almost dreamy and there were horses galloping around, an orchestra of sounds rang through Desmond's ears adding to his discomfort in a way the coals never did. The voices of individuals layering one another that it was impossible to differentiate from one sound to another. It was like a badly made mix tape that had no form of obvious pattern. It was just there.

Impossible images of an all-out blood-bath of individual fighting each other. The apparitions, fought without any concern to their surroundings. Desmond even saw a soldier plunge his sword through what he assumed to be Robert, who only stayed in place engrossed with whatever kept him at attention.

Desmond felt his mind slipping; his inability to concentrate on one thing frightened him, the loss of control becoming a lot more apparent.

It wasn't until he was safely away from the flames did Desmond snap out of the delusion. A smug smile plastered onto Roberts face.

" I have to say, assassin I've gotten more out of you than I hoped, an assassin stronghold, my Al Maulim has been busy." He paused, signaling to his subordinate to leave. Desmond couldn't help feeling a moment of apprehension as Robert caressed the hilt of his sword. Robert noticing that Desmond was watching his movements laughed. "Do not worry assassin, at the moment you are worth more to me alive than dead."

Robert took a step back and continued to wait. It didn't take long for a group of guards to come and settle around the area.

"If I have time to spare I will send a doctor for you, we can't have you gaining an infection and dying on the journey now can we."

Robert started to walk away, leaving Desmond behind to, figuratively speaking, lick his wounds.

* * *

Desmond could see the swollen soles of his feet, the grotesque, and bloody wounds of his injury, that made his skin crawl. On Desmond's left foot a small portion of his skin was missing leaving behind a burnt residue. The charred edges of his foot were starting to turn yellow, white and some odd shades of brown. There were parts of his skin that were literally peeling off. Painful blisters started to sprout. His right foot didn't fare any better the entire.

Desmond almost lost whatever food he had left in his stomach but fought against. There was no point in making his situation any worse. There was no point in making his body weaker or exposing his burns to any unnecessary exposure that could cause infection.

Desmond turned to the guards, who gave no sign in wanting to help or any form of sympathy. Being an assumed murderer could do that.

The pain at least was starting to subside; whether that was in truth a good thing Desmond wasn't so sure. Third degree burns had a tendency to destroy nerve endings, from what Desmond remembered in his course in 'Health'. He also knew that if he didn't clean out the wounds, infection could start and it will be game over, permanently, no Lucy to bring Desmond back. Desmond couldn't dismiss this as just an illusion or a dream anymore the pain he felt was too real to ignore.

There were also the hallucinations.

Desmond shook his head. It was probably some form of delirium that derailed Desmond from the excruciating pain he was experiencing. That could easily be explained away, his ability to speak the Arabic language coherently, not so much.

Desmond didn't know how he could speak the language without having a conscious thought, he didn't remember giving away sensitive information, to Robert of all people but apparently he did, if not he would still be burning alive by the fire.

He did briefly contemplate on why he said to Robert, but shook his head his head starting to hurt.

It didn't matter anyway, Desmond needed to think of his survival, and right now he needed fresh water to wash out the dirt from his wounds.

Desmond racked his brain searching for the definition of water in Arabic. It took a few minutes, testing it out and seeing if he was saying it correctly before moving onto the guards.

The guard didn't give any indication that they would comply, but eventually grabbed the leather pouch from his belt and passed it to Desmond.

Desmond nodded his head in thanks and took a quick sip of water, relieving his parched throat. He then proceeded to dump the water carefully over his burn ignoring the sting from the water and making sure he got all the dirt from the wound.

Once he was done he finished off the water, Desmond lay down on the floor, and tried to fall asleep. It wasn't long until he heard approaching steps.

He sat up, minding his injury and watched the man come in. He was stopped briefly by the guards but with a quick exchange of words he was coming to Desmond.

The man wasn't wearing anything out of the ordinary, just a normal set of clothes of except of course for the bright red cross adorned on his chest.

He introduced himself as Peter, and set right to work, he gently placed ointment on his burn that smelled suspiciously of lavender, putting on wet bandages on the wound causing Desmond to hiss. The doctor didn't talk much, other than the occasional mutterings in French. He seemed intent on finishing his job and being on his way. He was careless when bandaging up the wounds, wrapping it up tightly, Desmond feared it might cut off circulation.

When all was said and done the doctor gave a curt nod gave a few statements in French that Desmond didn't understand but assumed it was something along the line of 'mind his feet' given that he made wild gestures towards them.

Desmond scoffed, he didn't have any true control over his injuries as long as Robert was his captor.

* * *

Le maintenez=french for Hold him down, thank you for the correction :)

Just a heads up, Robert was practicing a form a torture called foot roasting.

Unrelated subject: Torchwood


	3. Chapter 3

AN: This chapter just did not want to be written, its a filler, and I do hate fillers but I had to get it out of the way before any real action can take place. Again thank you for the reviews and alerts. :)

* * *

Desmond woke up to a hot sun and bloody bandages, and a massive headache and an equally parched throat.

He ignored it in lieu of paying attention to the bustling of activity that surrounded him.

There were groups of soldiers running around in full body armor, swords at their side.

Desmond was starting to get apprehensive; he was still bound and could barely move out of the way of any impeding stampede.

On the bright side Desmond's feet hurt like hell, so no nerve damage.

Desmond went to sit up, it was better than lying on the dirty sandy floor. Of course the moment he did this a swarm of guards surrounded him.

"Of course that would happen." Desmond muttered. "Abstergo was at least subtle."

The guards didn't say anything, one guard actually handed him a pouch full of water and a loaf of bread which Desmond was more than grateful for. It was a slow process of taking a bite of his bread and drinking his water, considering he was tied up. At the very least it made Desmond unable to chug, and eat the bread all in one gulp.

Once he was finished he settled back down, idling his time away by watching a lone cloud lazily passing by. The heat starting to rise up in temperature if that was even possible. Desmond wanted very badly to take off his sweater, but with his current predicament of being bound and aggressive captors he didn't think that would happen anytime soon. It didn't matter, at the moment Desmond was satisfied. He had a pleasantly filled stomach, his thirst was quenched and best of all he was still alive. Desmond was a firm believer of small victories.

It didn't last long for Desmond's good mood to be ruined.

"Assassin, so good of you to join us." Robert stated appearing right over Desmond seemingly out of nowhere.

Desmond glared, annoyed by the jovially tone. Robert remained unaffected, laughing.

"Ah yes, the defiance, but enough of that assassin, there is cause to celebrate. We are now ready to head out."

Desmond narrowed his eyes, anxiety seeping in. He remembered that during last night's interrogation he had given away information without his knowledge. Knowledge that Desmond didn't even know he had. Robert seemed more than content with the information he received last night, and now that Desmond's brain was at least more lucid than he was the night before, had more cause to worry about the implications of Roberts's new found advantage.

"Head out?" Desmond repeated slowly, not trusting his words.

"Didn't take you for slow assassin, but yes, we are"

The moment Robert said those words two guards took hold of Desmond arms forcing him upright, aggravating his wounds. Desmond let out a hiss of pain, not at all liking the rough treatment.

"Now as our esteemed guest assassin, I have arranged a horse for you as well as a private escort." Robert gave a quick nod; the guards cut the ropes bounding Desmond's feet together. "Don't ruin your good fortune; I was half tempted to drag you all the way to Masayaf."

Robert turned away from Desmond.

"Get his horse ready and try not to damage the prisoner beyond repair, he is still needed." With that last said, robbery galloped away barking out orders to a group of soldiers.

The guards pushed Desmond forward, pain shooting down Desmond's feet with each step he took. The rocks digging deeper into Desmond's wounds, fear of infection flashed through Desmond's mind.

They stopped in front of a large group of Crusaders all glaring daggers at Desmond. There was a Templar knight guiding a brown horse to Desmond's position. Once the horse was at a close enough distance the guards helped Desmond up. The horse didn't protest didn't even make a sound telling Desmond that it was a good horse, a war horse. If it was trained by Templars it had to be. It seemed good, the horse was made for battle it was less likely to scare and kick Desmond off, meaning no broken arms, or legs. However something in Desmond told him this was also a bad thing. If this horse was trained it was less likely to rebel and give Desmond a means to escape. It was something that would never have crossed his mind before.

He settled himself carefully, minding his abused burns, being thankful that they were covered.

The knight at the reins didn't pay any mind to Desmond, standing at attention and facing forward.

They began to march.

* * *

Desmond let out a sigh of relief when they stopped for camp. They had been traveling for hours and frankly Desmond didn't understand how the soldiers behind him could still stay in formation. Desmond felt a little sympathy for the lot but brushed it off. He had to focus.

The Templar guide started to lead Desmond to the side away from the hectic assembly of camp, where he was inevitably yanked off his horse and pushed roughly towards some random direction.

The Templar Guide, a large gruff looking man led Desmond by the neck, shortening their distance to each other.

"Captain the prisoner is here." The Templar Guard said simply, pushing Desmond forcibly on his knees when they were in the presence of Robert.

Robert seemed to be in the middle of talking to a few knights so he didn't immediately pay attention to Desmond until he dismissed them. He gave a few sharp commands in French towards Desmond's jailor and the next thing moment his hands are no longer bound.

"Now, now assassin you did not have to kneel to me. Stand, and keep me company in my quarters." He glanced at Desmond bandages and smiled. "I'll make sure the medic will take a look at that."

Desmond could seriously punch the guy, there wasn't anything holding him back other than the six foot something behind him, his sword unsheathed and ready to strike. Desmond would have at least have time for one good punch straight to the face. Best case scenario he broke Roberts nose with a sword piercing his heart. Altair certainly would have.

Roberts smile growing to epic proportions. Desmond gritted his teeth and didn't make a move, but it was also something Robert wanted. He wanted Desmond to see his options, and wanted him to come to the conclusion that the only way for his continued survival was to hunker down, the manipulative bastard.

Desmond stood slowly and placed his hands in his pockets, preferring self-preservation over rising to take the bait.

"Now if you would just follow me, my tent should be ready by now." Robert said walking away, Desmond following with his jailor in tow.

They reached the tent, a monstrous thing, with two guards standing at the entrance. They stayed as still as statues when Desmond and Robert passed through. Desmond's jailor came in, but was sent away with a wave from Robert. There was a large table at the center a steaming plate of food.

Robert sat down placing a napkin that was on the table onto his lap, and started eating. He didn't say anything, didn't even look at Desmond and just sat and chewed. Desmond's stomach growled betraying his hunger and causing Robert to chuckle.

"Where are my manners, please sit. We have much to discuss." He took another bite looking Desmond straight in the eyes as he sat down. There was no plate for Desmond, their probably wouldn't be one. This was just another show of dominance that Robert kept lording over him.

"For all this time that we have been together, I haven't once heard your name. Assassin seems a little impersonal, doesn't it?"

Desmond just glared. It didn't deter Robert.

"Perhaps _makhaaneeth?"_

Desmond bit his tongue, the insult that would have rolled out of his tongue stopped.

"Is it not to your liking?" Robert asked innocently, there's not much I can do until you tell me your name."

Desmond swallowed his pride and said nothing.

Robert took another slow bite analyzing Desmond with a critical eye. "You are very different than the assassin I came into contact with just a few days before. He was bold, so when I met you Id assumed you'd be the same. The two of you seem to come from the same blood, more than that twins, am I not correct."

Desmond frowned; he never really thought Altair looked anything like him. That it was just part of the Animus experience. His' body' being used and taking on the role as Altair. Besides he never really looked at a mirror when he was Altair, not that there were any mirrors, but that wasn't the point. The fact that Desmond looked like such a well-known assassin such as Altair was just another cross Desmond had to bear.

"You must be the resemblance is astonishing. Do you think your brother is worried about you, or does he not know that you have left the safety of the assassin stronghold?"

'He doesn't even know I exist.' Desmond thought, looking away from Roberts's meal and something less torturous, such as the floor.

There was the sound of clinking utensils and not much else.

"Well," Robert said after a long moment of silence. "It's getting late, and I have to start preparations for the morning, but before I go." Desmond turned when he heard Robert pushing the plate of semi-finished food towards Desmond. There wasn't much left on the plate, a chicken bone with unappetizing bits of meat at the ends, a tiny portion of rice and a morsel of bread.

It was leftovers, the kind that only a dog could truly appreciate.

"You shouldn't let good food go to waste. Who knows when you'll get your next meal?"

Desmond clenched his fists; he hadn't eaten since the morning and it didn't do anything to soothe Desmond's hunger throughout the day. He needed to eat, especially if he was injured. He needed all the strength he could get if he wanted to survive this ordeal. This thought did nothing to appease Desmond's damaged ego when he started eating.

When he was done all Desmond could feel was shame and more importantly contempt towards Roberts Cheshire cat smile.

Desmond's jailor walked in, doing the familiar routine of tying Desmond up and bringing him to his feet.

"Put him away for the night and make sure to let the medic know that if time permits to check the prisoner's injuries. Though let him know that it is not a priority."

The jailor simply nodded his head and pulled Desmond by the neck and walked out of the tent. He led him to a smaller more secure tent with twin guards, just like Roberts, at the entrance. The jailor threw Desmond on the floor and left without another word. Desmond looked around and found a bucket at the edge of the tent filled with dirty water. Not really wanting a repeat of earlier, Desmond left the bucket as it was, choosing to drink from it only when he was dangerously parched.

He needed to focus on more important things anyway, such as escaping from Roberts clutches. The most convenient time to escape would be when they would be near Masayaf, but knowing Robert he would be expecting such a transgression. So Desmond's only hope is to wait for an opening, the moment Roberts men loosened their security over him he should take it, find a horse and get the hell out of there. Minor details of where he should go or what he should do will have to wait.

* * *

_makhaaneeth: _an insult that means homosexual; correct me if im wrong the guy I usually go to for Arabic linguistics is not avaible to me so I might edit this word out and put another insult on monday or tuesday.

Also I have this irrational craving for some Robert/Desmond; not stipulating that it will be in the story just something I would like to read.

Unreleated subject: In memory of Twinkies 11/16/12


	4. Chapter 4

Warning: Animal abuse if this isn't your cup of tea don't read this chapter or at least avoid the last few paragraphs.

* * *

It has been a week since Desmond's initial capture and things had not gotten any better. The food Desmond received was something to be desired since the majority was rotten fruit and bread crumbs if he was lucky. The meal he had with Robert all but a humiliating memory that Desmond wouldn't mind going through again if it meant having half way decent food.

Desmond at least didn't have any shortage of dirty water to drink.

Either way, Desmond was better off than he would have imagined considering the circumstances. His wounds weren't even showing any signs of infection, and Desmond was able to walk for a decent amount of time before he had to take a rest, so enough to make it to the horses at the edge of camp but no chance of escaping on foot.

Not that an opportunity has even presented itself to Desmond yet. The guards kept their constant vigilance and didn't seem to be letting up anytime soon. Every time the Templars made camp they dragged Desmond to his tent kept his limbs tied up and two guards at the entrance at all times, leaving no room to the imagination on how to escape, until that very night.

From what Desmond could understand there was a bit of a mishap with the usual guards stationed at his tent. Somehow instead of two guards there was only one. The only real chance Desmond had received at the start of his capture. The guard wasn't overly large in comparison to his peer he seemed to be a good 5'6 and weighed a given estimate of 200 lb. a little more than Desmond's own 170. Desmond wasn't much of a fighter other than the occasional bar fight he had to break up. He knew that a man of his size could take down well a man of his; he'd seen Altair do it on numerous occasions. The question was whether Desmond had the ability to do it.

He started to slip his hands out of his restraints, but it was proving to be futile. Still Desmond persevered and soon his hands were free, he was thankful for the fact that the Templars didn't know how to tie a proper knot. With his hands free he set to work with his legs, minding his injuries in the process.

He detangled the rope and observed the guard from behind. The guard didn't give any indication that he knew that Desmond was free. Not that Desmond had given him or any of the guards any reason to suspect.

He untangled the rope and stood up as quietly as possible. One false move, just one unnecessary sound could ruin Desmond's chances of escape.

Desmond didn't dwell on that particular form of reasoning.

He winded the ends of the untangled rope around his hands and started to inch his way to the guard's direction.

In the state Desmond was in he knew he had no chance on overcoming one guard and not attracting attention.

So Desmond took a deep breath, gave the rope a quick tug to make sure it would be able to do the job and swiftly put the rope around the man's neck and tightened.

Immediately there were struggling, he grabbed at the rope futilely pulling to relieve the pressure, but after a few seconds the man went limp against Desmond making them both fall over in the process.

Desmond pushed the man off of him. He didn't think it would actually be that easy. From the way movies always made it out to be, Desmond thought it would be relatively difficult. He even expected to be thrown across the floor.

He stood up, grappling the edges of the guard's tunic and dragged him inside the tent with much difficulty. The moment he had him inside he removed the man's sword and placed it as far away from him a possible. He started searching for other possible weapons and came out with a knife. When Desmond was satisfied, he restrained the guard using the rope he had at his disposal and gagged him with a piece of his tunic that Desmond cut with his newly pocketed knife. But not before taking the nice leather ankle boots and putting them on his own feet. They were a size bigger than he was, but it was better than nothing.

With one final tug of the rope Desmond went on his way. His feet were starting to hurt slightly from the way Desmond agitated them earlier. He didn't see any tears, or re-opening of wounds when he put on his shoes so he guessed that was a good sign. On his way out he didn't meet any guards; the majority was sleeping in their tents after a long day of riding.

He still kept his steps light; Templar knights are supposed to be at the ready at all times and are typically light sleepers.

It wasn't at all encouraging to be faced with a long row of tents, and a blaring light at the end of the rows.

And sure enough, once Desmond reached the end of tents, a bonfire was set up a safe distance away from the tents but still close enough for the individuals near the fire to notice if a limping figure passed by.

Desmond had no choice but to sit back and wait for a suitable distraction to arrive.

Instead Desmond settled for eavesdropping, not that it did much good. While Desmond had been to add a few more phrases into his knowledge of the French language. It was hardly enough to be able to follow a fast passed conversation that the knights were engaging in. The few words he was able to understand didn't clue Desmond in on anything; if anything it added to his confusion on how convoluted it was, so it was pointless to continue to listen. If only he was able to listen in and understand what they were saying.

Desmond played around with the knife that he had an acquired it was small but sharp. The hilt informing Desmond that this was fairly well used knife. It made Desmond slightly uncomfortable at that revelation. Killing in a simulation was a whole lot different than actually killing someone in real life.

In the Animus it wasn't Desmond who was assassinating someone it was Altair, which was a distinction that Desmond always made sure to have but this situation.

Desmond swallowed. He had a feeling that the distinction wouldn't be as black and white as before.

He put the knife away and focused on the group of Templars that seemed to be sharing what seemed to be cheap wine. They all seemed to be laughing jovially with one other which seemed like a suitable distraction to Desmond, as he quickly went to the other side of the camp and hid behind a large rock.

Desmond gave a hesitant peek over and found that nobody really noticed his passing. He gave a small sigh of relief and continued on his way.

The horses were in a small clearing ahead of him with five horses tied down to a stake to the ground. However they weren't alone.

A lone man stood feeding the horses their dinner, he didn't look much older than sixteen or so and had to be some sort of stable hand or squire whatever the apprentices that were called in this time era. He had his back to Desmond, which gave Desmond an advantage.

Desmond sneaked over, being careful not to trip over any rocks and fall flat on his face. They weren't far enough away from camp for no one to hear them. If this young man saw him and called out for help, it wouldn't take that much time for other Templars to come in and use the remaining horses to come after him. He'll have to figure that out, sooner preferably than later, but the first course of action would be to incapacitate the Templar.

Unlike before Desmond didn't have any rope which would have made his job easier, though it really shouldn't matter as long as he did the choke hold properly, but now that Desmond thought about it he didn't want to risk it. He looked to the ground to find something hard enough to hit the boy to knock him out but alas there was nothing.

The only thing he had was…..the knife, and to be honest Desmond didn't want to kill someone so young even under these circumstances. Maybe it shouldn't matter considering what he went through but Desmond didn't want to stoop to any of these Templars levels.

He took his knife out from his pants pocket, the steel reflecting his image.

He couldn't just stand here and do nothing though, his window of opportunity was closing, and the young boy was almost done with his chores. He gripped the hilt of the knife tightly when an epiphany struck him.

Pistol whip, the hilt of the dagger wasn't as large as most pistols that Desmond had seen but hopefully if he hit the boy hard enough it would knock him out. He just hoped it wouldn't break through the skull.

Desmond gripped the hilt and struck the side of the boys head as hard as he could.

It worked; the boy fell to the ground out cold. Desmond checked to see if he was breathing which thankfully he was. Desmond breathed a sigh of relief as he dragged the boy over somewhere away from the horses.

Now Desmond had to figure out the rest of this mess. He looked towards the horses; there were a total of six horses. Desmond only needed one, which lead Desmond with a problem. If he escaped, it wouldn't be too hard for the Templars to follow his tracks and chase him down using these very horses.

Desmond looked towards the camp and so far no one was coming his way.

Desmond didn't know what to do; he wanted to make sure his escape was a success, a thought struck Desmond and it seemed so brutal but he didn't see much choice in the matter. He had time, and maybe it was the only thing he could make sure this escape would work. If he was caught than he would no doubt die.

He grabbed the rags the young boy was using to clean off the horses and went around covering all the horses' eyes, tightening it so they wouldn't move. It was a slow process but none of the horses seemed to resist. Desmond couldn't help feeling nauseous about this.

Later he started tightening their reins so that they would be unable to make noise again just like before they didn't resist. Desmond felt like he was going to barf up the last pieces of his meager dinner.

He looked at the horses and took the strongest looking horse to the side. He took out his knife and stared at it one last time before he went to the first horse. He listened to it breath for a moment, and felt a surge of guilt but squashed it down. He grabbed the horse by the nose and pulled it close reinforcing the reins restriction over the horse's mouth. Desmond was hesitant but once he took a deep breath he slit the horse's throat.

It wasn't deep enough, it was too shallow, plus the horse started struggling, but Desmond held on tight. He couldn't let go for fear of the horse making enough nose to attract the rest of the Templars. Desmond had to do it a two more times before enough blood was flowing down the horse's neck for Desmond to feel comfortable to let go.

The horse didn't seem to be making any noises at this point, leaving the rest of the horses in the dark, with no knowledge of what was going on.

Desmond was a little surprised that the horses didn't have any idea what was going to happen to them. He thought they had some sort of sixth sense, but apparently not enough to notice, it kind of made Desmond a little sick.

He continued the process with the other four horses, this time making sure he cut the jugular of the horse to reduce any unnecessary pain the horses could go through leaving Desmond thoroughly dirty with horse's blood.

That's when Desmond promptly threw up on the ground.

* * *

Desmond collected himself and rushed towards the horse he had pulled to the side. He didn't wish to ponder what he just did. Perhaps feeling guilty over killing a few horses shouldn't be at the top of Desmond list to be worried about, but he was.

He removed the horse's rag that covered his eyes. It was difficult for Desmond to pat the horse on the side of the neck, acting like nothing happened. The horse was skittish, Desmond didn't blame him.

"Sorry boy." Desmond said simply before climbing atop of the horses and riding it as far away from camp as he could.

* * *

I apologize for the lack of updates as of late. I've been trying to get things sorted and haven't found the time to write.

Perhaps Desmond's characterization is a bit odd, i'm trying to get a feel for him but it's difficult. I don't think he would willingly kill someone well not in the first game anyway. I don't think he would be comfortable to be killing a horse either so eh. Hard character to get into eh.

Also this will not be a yaoi just to clarify, I will also try to make this as historically accurate as I can. thats been my main focus since I started this., usually I spend hours studying on a certain topic before I commit it to text. If you see anything thats inaccurate please let me know So I can fix it.

Unrelated subject: Eminem


	5. Chapter 5

Desmond had absolutely no idea how long he had been traveling. The sun was up and rising high into the sky so it must have been a few hours since Desmond had fled the Templar camp, however a another problem struck Desmond He had no idea where he was going, making this a much worse situation than he was previously in. Given that dehydration was a huge threat especially since today of all days seemed to be the hottest day Desmond had gone through so far.

The horse wasn't faring so well either, considering it probably didn't get a decent enough rest and hasn't had water in the past few hours. Desmond would doubt he would get any farther without any water in the next half hour.

Desmond looked up and was surprised to see a blurry faraway image of a tower. It looked to be a few miles away so about twenty minute travels, that is if the horse didn't collapse from heat exhaustion. He squinted; the structure of the tower looked vaguely familiar. Weather that was a good thing Desmond wasn't sure but at this point he didn't have a choice. There couldn't be that many people that knew his face and by his face he meant Altiar's. Someone in that tower should have water or some sort of water source Desmond could get a drink, including the horse.

He guided the horse in the direction of where the tower was. Desmond really hoped that this wasn't just an image created by his dehydration. He clicked his heels and made the horse go faster.

The horse protested with a slight whiny but it seemed too tired to really care as it galloped its way toward the tower. It took less time than Desmond anticipated on getting a proper view of the tower.

With a proper view he was able to discern more figures that were surrounding the tower. He squinted, the sun giving Desmond some difficulty.

It didn't take long for Desmond to realize that these individuals were Assassins going by their white hoods they had to be. Desmond didn't know what to do.

He didn't know how the assassins would react well to someone like him, someone who held an uncanny resemblance to a well-known figure such as Altair, or he could go out in the desert and die from dehydration.

There wasn't much choice in the matter, so Desmond pushed the horse on in the direction of the tower; he hoped that today would work out in his favor.

Desmond tried not to arouse attention as he pushed the horse forward, it didn't work. It didn't take long for him to be surrounded. They were quick to draw their blade out except one. One of the Assassins who Desmond couldn't really get a good look at his face thanks to the hood was walking closer to Desmond's horse.

"What is it you seek, stranger." The man said ominously.

"Water." Desmond deadpanned, not really in the mood to play mind games with an assassin.

"You've been traveling in this terrain without water?" The man questioned sounding a little amused.

I'm glad someone finds it funny. Desmond thought irritated, as he glared down at the man. "It's called drinking over time water tends to disappear." Desmond couldn't help saying, ignoring the dry feeling of his tongue and how his throat when he talked.

The man chuckled, unperturbed by Desmonds sarcasm. He motioned to the others to lay down their weapons.

"I am sorry brother it took me a moment to recognize you. One can never be too careful nowadays." The man said taking out a leather pouch and passing it onto Desmond who took it hastily. He opened the stopper and gulped down the contents and choked in his eagerness. In Roberts's custody he had generous amount water, dirty water. Desmond couldn't help relieving a sigh of relief at having a drink of water that didn't taste like dirt and piss.

He wiped away the stray droplets from his mouth. "Thanks." He said as an afterthought, giving the pouch back to the assassin. The man only nodded his head as placed the pouch at his side.

"How was your journey Altair?"

Desmond stared in surprise at the man before shaking his head. He would have thought Altiar would have passed by the area by now, but he couldn't let this opportunity slip past him. Either he took on Altairs identity or he could go back to being on the other end of those five swords. "As well as you can expect." Desmond said vaguely. "But I don't have time to discuss it at length, I must return to Masayaf as soon as possible I bring news for Al Maulim." After all it wasn't a complete lie.

"I understand." The man said solemnly. "You must get there immediately. I'll fetch you a fresh horse and you can be on your way. Please rest my friend your journey must have been difficult."

Desmond nodded grateful for the man's help, though he felt a little guilty for not knowing his name. His time in the animus only gave him names on 'important' figures in Altairs life, though now that he looked back maybe it would have been worth the extra time and effort.

The assassins gave Desmond a small nod before going back to their perspective locations. They didn't move, still as statues. At times Desmond admired the discipline these assassins had cultivated over the years. He would be the first to admit that he would never be able to stand at still for more than a few minutes let alone a few hours.

Giving one last look at the assassins he slowly descended from his horse gritting his teeth as his injured feet touched the ground. He didn't want to let on his injuries at least not this soon. He couldn't risk gaining any suspicion towards himself.

He took a deep breath and stood starch still not wanting to aggravate his wounds any more than he needed. It seemed his companion was quick to bring him a horse. Unlike the horse he had run down this horse seemed to be in top physical condition.

"She's a good horse." The man said as she brought her nearer to Desmond. "She'll ride you all the way to Masayaf. Are you sure you don't want to rest brother. "

Desmond gave a quick nod as he climbed the horse. "I'm already late as it is thank you for your help brother." Desmond said inserting the last word in as an afterthought. He didn't really understand how to interact with the other assassins. Altair wasn't a good role model for social interaction.

"It was no trouble, and good luck." The man said with a small smile. "Perhaps we shall meet another time in more pleasing circumstances."

Desmond gave a small smile, not that he didn't like the man but if he had any smidgen of luck he wouldn't even be in this situation. "Yes perhaps we shall." With that said Desmond rode off, unsure of what to do next.

* * *

Well I expected more from this chapter truth be told but I suppose it couldn't be helped.

unrelated subject: Bioshock infinite


	6. Chapter 6

Desmond was on a one way path towards Masyaf and if Desmond were to be honest he wasn't sure how he was going to survive the trip. He wasn't sure how he was able to slide past the tower undetected. Desmond was sure that Altair should have beaten him to Masyaf first. He had a head start and unlike Desmond he wasn't held captive. Maybe he had just caught a lucky break for once and the tower guards had switched before he had arrived.

Though how much of a lucky break it would be would depend on how well Desmond played his next move. He couldn't hide in the little strip of land between the tower and Masayaf. He'd just be caught and taken in for questioning his face was pretty distinctive in this time period. Not only that but he knew eventually Robert would make his way to Masayaf. He'd done it before after all making it unsafe for Desmond's continued existence to stay here.

At the sometime he couldn't arrive in Masayaf without a game plan. Altair wouldn't be on the best of terms with the entire village given that he not only failed his mission but Malik's brother killed. A pang of guilt went through Desmond at the memory. He didn't kill Kadar, Roberts men did and it wasn't he who abandoned Kadar to that fate it was Altair. Desmond wasn't even born at the time, there was no way he could have stopped the events from happening not even when he was in the animus. He was just a spectator; he didn't actually _do _anything to Kadar. So why did it feel like it did.

Desmond sighed; he'd have to avoid Malik as much as possible. He could cause a lot of unnecessary trouble for Desmond, but he wasn't the only one he had to look out for. Abbas for example would cause all sorts of examples. Making an actual of hindering any actual plan Desmond had, Malik at least would be bedridden for a few weeks thanks to his injury. Desmond couldn't help letting out a small groan at the thought of Abbas. He'd only met the once as Altair but even if he never met the man personally he was sure he would never have been able to get along with him either But if he had a choice between Abbas and Al Maulim, Desmond would pick Abbas every time.

He shuddered, memories of his betrayal resurfacing. Out of everyone here in this time period that old man was more dangerous than anyone. Desmond had best be on his toes, he had the benefit of knowing what the old man was up that. That at least would help in staying out of the man's way while Desmond searched for a way to get out of there.

He pushed his horse forward, the village's walls just within sight. He swallowed pulling the tattered hood over his head to hide his face. He'll have to get a new sweater or something the one he had now wasn't going to last him for much longer.

Once near the gate Desmond dismounted from his horse carefully minding his wounds before taking it to the nearby stable. He could feel several eyes on him no doubt from the guards standing at the entrance. Desmond shrugged it off; they weren't doing anything to him so he could live with that.

He gave the horse one last pat on the neck before gathering his courage and walking inside. The assassin guards didn't stop him and Desmond didn't stay long enough to let them as he continued to walk at a brisk pace. He was stopped by the sound of Altair's name being called in his direction. Desmond froze fear threatening to paralyze him before he roughly pushed the feeling away. He turned to see who was calling 'him' and found Rauf. He was one of the few assassins Desmond was actually able to recognize and not only that but know his name. If it wasn't for Rauf he probably wouldn't have done so well in as Altairs doppelganger in the animus. He always appreciated his efforts even if he didn't know how much it actually helped him, even if Altiar never did.

Rauf looked at Desmond blinking in confusion yet his mouth twitched as if wanting to smile. Desmond was getting the impression that Rauf couldn't decide whether to be bewildered or in awe.

It looked completely ridiculous. Desmond stifled the urge to laugh biting the in the insides of his cheeks. Altair never laughed, never, not once in the entire year Desmond was reliving his life or at least his pinnacle moments anyway. It was part of the arrogant Altair package. He succeeded if barely. Smiling on the other hand wasn't as easy to stop. He just hoped the hood of the sweater hid his face well enough for Rauf not to notice.

Rauf settled with the former, his eyebrow furrowed in concentration. "Altair I thought you had just left to see the master." He asked his tone cheerful, but curious all the same. "What are you still doing here?"

Desmond paused a moment. Unlike the previous assassin Rauf knew Altair fairly well. It would only take one conversation to ruin the illusion that he was truly Altair or to raise any sorts of doubt if his sanity was still intact.

"I neglected to ask if I missed anything important while I was gone." Desmond said evenly trying his best to imitate Altairs speech. From the way Rauf brightened at his words he succeeded.

"Ah of course." Rauf said his expression relaxing his smile reappearing but Desmond could swear it was ten times brighter. "Well I'm afraid there hasn't been much excitement since you've been away my friend."

"Thank you, for your help Rauf." Desmond said keeping his tone neutral.

"Think nothing of it brother." Rauf said sincerely. "Safety and peace, Altair."

Desmond hesitated before putting his head in gear. "On you as well." He said cringing at his latent response. He moved quickly away Rauf, wanting to put as much distance away from him. Now that he was inside the gates, Desmond was at a loss as to what to do next. He never really expected to get this far in the first place. One thing was certain he should avoid the castle at all costs. Desmond didn't think he could easily explain away his presence to Altair himself.

He glanced at his surrounding noticing that the villagers around him would give small glances in his direction. Desmond sighed as he pushed the prying eyes of the villagers around him. He wasn't used to this, he was accustomed to being ignored, not singled out. That was one of the perks at working at a bar. People were too drunk to care who was serving them drinks as long as they got them. What Desmond would give to get back to his old life before all this Abstergo shit went down.

He edged towards the alleyways where they weren't any people and simply collapse. Desmond didn't care at this point how dirty the floor was, he wouldn't have stood up even if he was lying on horse shit. He was exhausted, from the horse riding; dealing with captivity and this 'adventure' that Desmond was an unwilling participant in. All he wanted to do was sleep; better yet drop into a coma. So what if he's a vegetable at least he wouldn't be dealing with crazy Templars or murderous assassins.

Desmond scoffed at the redundancy of that statement, before turning his head to avoid looking at the dizzying sky.

As much as Desmond wanted to, he couldn't not if he wanted to survive this nightmare.

With much reluctance Desmond sat up engaging in his surroundings once again and was thankful to see a clothes all set up to dry close to the back of the ally. Pleased by the rare stroke of luck, Desmond stood back up and examined the contents, until a simple black cloak caught Desmonds eyes. Without a second thought Desmond removed his tattered sweater and donned the black cloak.

It was larger, Desmond imagined the cloak was meant for a larger man but it would make do. It also had the added benefit of hiding his face thanks to the hood.

He felt a little guilty for taking the cloak but he didn't have much of a choice. And he couldn't just leave his sweater in a pitiful attempt at an exchange. Enough people had seen it and it wouldn't take a genius to find out who the original owner belonged to. Desmond resolved to make it up to them in some way in the future before turning around and pulling the hood over his head, and merged with the crowd.

He found that not as many people paid attention to him as before. Desmond assumed it must have been his white sweater, just like any uniform it made people stand out. Even more so if their assassins thought as he went to sit down on a nice shaded bench. No one paid him much attention, and Desmond was happy he could be alone with his thoughts for once.

Robert would arrive in Masayaf eventually. It was inevitable even if Desmond said something to Robert he would still find a way to Masyaf even without his help. It was already written in history as clichéd as it sounded, but just like before Robert will be stopped. All Desmond had to do was escape to the castle when the time came, wait it out and he'll be home free. In all the confusion no one would be paying attention to him anyway. As long as he avoided Altair like the plague he should be fine. After that Desmond wasn't sure but he preferred to take this one step at a time.

He gave a small relieved smile but it was wiped away once he way the limping figure of Malik with two men at his holding what Desmond imagined was the infamous apple of Eden. He swallowed averting his eyes quickly from it. Desmond never properly understood the extent the apples power but from the insane look in Al Maulims eyes. He didn't want to personally find out.

Desmond flinched when Malik passed him he was sure with Maliks sharp eyes he would have noticed something but he didn't even spare Desmond a glance. Too preoccupied with his mission and something Desmond knew was anger. The guilt from earlier made itself known yet again to Desmond but he couldn't do anything, not even offer his condolences. Desmonds guess if Malik saw him the only reply he would give would be a punch to the face with his only good arm.

That only did to strengthen Desmonds wave of guilt. He shook his head, standing, wincing as his injuries made themselves known.

If Malik had arrived, Robert wasn't too far from arriving himself, and Desmond didn't want to be part of the welcoming party.

esmond followed the path near the castle making sure to keep his head down, taking frequent stops at any bench he saw. It wasn't long after he had made it near the castle itself that chaos started to ensue.

The first thing he saw were crowds of people rushing towards the castle gates, not wanting to face off with Desmond was sure were Templar knights he followed. So far the first part of his plan was going on without a hitch.

While Desmond and the villagers were trying to get into the castle walls there were just as many assassins rushing out to defend the village.

Desmond made sure to get out of their way. He didn't want to give a reason to get singled out.

Once past the gate Desmond relaxed finding an open space and sitting down. He felt sympathy for the families huddling close to together in fear even more so to the grieving individuals crying over their bloodied companions or at their sudden loss. The entire scene was too real for Desmond. The animus always helped provide enough of a wall from all the atrocities he saw. He always focused on the next checkpoint in the memory nothing else. Now that Desmond wasn't in the animus he couldn't hide from what was happening. With the continuing hysteria a feeling of helplessness overcame Desmond.

Desmond closed his eyes tuning out the rest of the world. He was successful, that is until he heard the distraught voice of a young women.

He opened his eyes and saw that girl who continued to scream was literally being dragged inside the gates. To Desmonds surprise she was avidly trying to get outside into the chaos.

"My boy!" She screamed clawing at the man holding her back. Even with the man's huge bulk it was obvious he was having trouble keeping her at bay. "He's still in the village, I can't just leave him." She started to pound the man's back in frustration tears of frustration starting to fall down her cheek. "Please he's still a little boy."

Desmond shook his head ignoring the women's pleas before he couldn't take it any longer. He was probably going to regret this.

"Where did you last see him?" Desmond said loud enough for the women to hear him, pushing himself off the floor.

The women gave a rough a rough push at the man holding her down and reluctantly the man let her go. He didn't let his eyes off her for a second though.

"Down at the lower side of the village. He was playing hide and seek with his friends." She said anxiously.

Desmond didn't like the odds of that. If the boy was in the lower parts of the village, if he hadn't found his way here already he could very well be dead. There really was no point in risking his life if he would only be looking for a corpse no matter how bad he felt about the women's situation. Desmond shouldn't even be considering doing this in the first place.

The women must have seen the hesitation in Desmonds eyes since she sprung forward holding onto Desmonds arms in a vice like grip. "He's all I have left, please. I'd go myself but this idiot won't let me." She said pointing at the man in question who only gave a sheepish grin.

Desmond really didn't want to do this. It could put his entire plan in jeopardy but he couldn't just leave this boy to his fate.

"I'll do what I can." Desmond said walking passed the incredulous faces of the surrounding villagers who had heard the interaction. They didn't stop Desmond. A small part of him wanted them to.

* * *

Well Desmond finally reached his destination. Can I just say that I have the best reviewers I swear you guys just crack me up. Now I'm craving Robert/Desmond haha its just a crack pairing. Again not a yaoi but let me dream ok. Ill try updating this every monday. Also sorry for any mistakes in the text.

Unrelated subject: Despicable me 2


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